Awkward Misunderstandings
by Bookworm85
Summary: When you only hear part of a conversation, awkward misunderstandings happen. Humor. Rated T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

A/N -Alfred the Cat is female for the purposes of this story.

Awkward Misunderstandings

Dick was passing by Damian's room when he heard voices coming from behind the closed door. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, really, but a sentence caught him off-guard. "I'm upset that she won't sleep with me."

The man stopped suddenly in the hallway. That had been Damian's voice.

"It's not a big deal." Tim, this time. When did the two of them get close enough to have a conversation like this?

"You wouldn't understand. And since she won't sleep with me, I've decided to sleep with him instead," Damian said.

"I'm not surprised. You like him better anyway," Tim said.

Dick was floored. He had hoped that one day, Damian would come to him for advice on dating and love. But for some reason, he was talking to Tim (the guy Damian had sworn was his mortal enemy just last week), who apparently already knew that Damian was into guys.

"I wanted to sleep with both of them," Damian continued.

"Well, it looks like you can only get one at this point. I'm surprised you aren't insisting on sleeping with-" Dick missed the end of Tim's sentence because of a noise from downstairs. He glared down the hall at whoever was making him miss out on this unreal conversation. He pinched himself. Not a dream. Had he been exposed to drugs recently as Nightwing?

"Don't be absurd, Drake. She's a cow!"

Dick felt indignation rise up inside of him. He thought he had done a good job helping raise Damian, and one thing he was unmoved on was that Damian needed to show respect to women. That comment was going to get him an earful from Dick.

"I know she's a cow, Damian. I just thought-"

Damian cut him off. "How did we get on this topic anyway?"

Dick couldn't take any more. He opened the door violently, causing the room's occupants to look up at him. Damian was sitting crosslegged on his bed, and Tim was on the floor stroking Titus. Alfred the cat had been sleeping in the corner of the room in a patch of sunshine, but she decided she was offended at Dick's loud entrance and walked haughtily out the door.

"Do you need something?" Tim asked dryly.

"This is unacceptable! Damian, you are ten years old!" Dick exclaimed.

Damian narrowed his eyes as he usually did when someone reminded him of his biological age. "Yes? And?"

"That conversation was inappropriate."

His two younger brothers gave him an odd look. "Were you spying on us, Grayson?" Damian asked.

"That's beside the point. You are too young to be sleeping with anyone, boys or girls!"

Damian continued glaring at him, but Tim smirked. Then the smirk became a giggle, which turned into him rolling on the floor laughing. Titus moved away from him and jumped on the bed next to Damian.

"I don't think that this is very funny," Dick said, his face flushed with anger. "And don't think I didn't hear you bad-mouthing some girl. You don't call people a cow, Damian! And Tim, you..." Tim now had tears coming down his face. Dick finished lamely, "...know better."

Damian snorted. "I should stop being surprised at the stupidity of some people in this house. If you are going to eavesdrop, at least get the whole story."

"I heard you talking about sleeping with-"

"My pets," Damian finished for him. "I was talking about how the cat didn't want to sleep with me, and Drake reassured me that at least I had Titus."

Understanding dawned. "And when you were talking about a cow..."

"I was referring to Batcow."

Dick's face turned red from embarrassment. Tim's face was also red, but for a different reason. And it was quickly turning purple from lack of oxygen. "It's not that funny," Dick muttered.

"You are correct. It is not funny that you listened in on a private conversation. You should know better, Grayson," Damian chided.

After being scolded by a ten year old, the only thing for Dick to do was slink out of the room.

Tim wiped tears from his eyes, but he was far from done with his mirth.

"Calm down, Drake. Only a fool would think it was that funny."

"Sleeping with-" Tim started, then dissolved into giggles again.

"I am surrounded by idiots," Damian told Titus. The dog woofed in agreement.

* * *

"I should head home," Robin said.

"Hey, why do you have to run off right now?" Red Hood asked. He had run into Robin on patrol, and the two of them had teamed up to take down a street gang threatening an older couple passing by. It wasn't anything that Red Hood couldn't handle on his own, but having someone watch his back meant he walked away without any injuries. Red Hood decided that he wouldn't mind patrolling with the pipsqueak for another half hour or so, but Robin apparently wanted to call it a night.

"Alfred's pregnant," Robin replied.

"Come again?"

"Alfred is pregnant," Robin repeated.

"That's what I thought you said. What does it mean?" Red Hood asked. Was this a new code the family hadn't thought to inform him of? Figures.

Robin sighed heavily and repeated it a third time. "Al-fred. Is. Preg-nant."

"That old guy's got some secrets, that's for sure."

Robin blinked at him in confusion, then realization hit him. "No! Not Pennyworth. Alfred. The cat?"

"Your cat is pregnant?"

Robin delivered a look that indicated he was unsure if Red Hood's IQ exceeded the average person's life expectancy. "That's what I said. Three times."

"Well, it's not my fault you named the cat after the butler. Your _female_ cat after the _male_ butler."

"In my defense, I did not know she was female when I named her."

"Great excuse. When you spread the happy news, you might want to make sure people know who it is you're talking about."

Robin glared at him. Then he sighed. "Understood."

* * *

Bruce was working in his study when he heard footsteps in the hallway. He considered pausing his work to see if someone needed him for something, but Lucius really wanted this work sent to him within the hour. The other man had cut Bruce a lot of slack over the years, and Bruce wanted to show he deserved that trust.

"No, really, how many?" Tim said.

"Forty-five." Jason replied.

"You did not kill forty -five in a minute," Tim accused. Bruce paused in his typing. Jason knew how much it upset him to hear discussions of killing, especially in his own house. He gave the Batglare in the direction of their voices, hoping it would be felt through the door.

"Yes, I did." Jason sounded proud. Bruce's hands clenched into fists. Jason had been doing so much better lately. The young man hadn't taken a life in just over three months, to Bruce's knowledge. So why was he bragging about his kills to Tim?

"There is no way," Tim said. They were right in front of his door now. Soon, their conversation would be out of hearing range. Bruce stood silently and headed to the door.

"Maybe not for you, but I'm me. Here's what you do: You shoot into the air to attract their attention. Then you hide and wait for them to come. They're not very smart. When they can't find you, they just stand there. When enough have gathered, you stand up and pop 'em off."

"If you use a machine gun, then it's not fair. You can just 'spray and pray.' "

"Where would I have gotten a machine gun?" Jason asked, sounding annoyed. "No. One shot, one kill. Forty-five in sixty seconds. I'll show you if you don't believe me."

Bruce reached the door and opened it, just in time to see the two boys entering the den. He almost called out to them, but decided it would make more of an impact if he went to them. He stepped into the den and fixed his glare on both boys.

"Hey, Bruce," Tim started to say cheerfully, but his voice trailed off when he saw the man's expression. "What's wrong?"

"Jason." Bruce said, using the gravelly Batman voice. "We've talked about killing before, haven't we?"

Jason cocked his head to the side. "Only several times a week when I was Robin, and several times a day before patrol since I've been back. I've been good for three months, B. What's this about?"

Alfred's voice appeared in Bruce's head, reminding him to praise his sons for their accomplishments in order to build a better relationship with them. Bruce forced himself to take a breath to calm down. "I recognize that it's been three months, and I am-" he couldn't say proud, the word stuck in his throat, "-glad. But glorifying killing to your brothers is unacceptable."

Jason looked confused, but realization dawned on Tim's face. "Oh, no, Bruce, you've got it wrong-"

"You walked right by my study. Did you think I wouldn't hear?"

Jason finally caught on. "B, for the World's Greatest Detective, you sometimes jump to conclusions without the facts."

Tim, worried that Jason would drag out the explanation and cause unnecessary friction between the two of them, stepped in. "We were talking about zombies. In a video game." He held up the controller that was resting in his lap. Bruce turned around to see the words "World After Zombies" on the TV screen.

"So, you didn't kill forty-five people in a minute?" Bruce asked, at a loss because he was geared up for a lecture and the reason for the lecture had disappeared.

"Nope. Just zombies. Which is funny because..." Bruce braced himself for a zombie joke. It didn't come. "I haven't killed anything outside of video games in three months."

"I see." Bruce tried to think of a way to save face. "Well. Just remember how I feel about killing."

"Couldn't forget, boss. I know zombies are supposed to be brainless, but if I hear something five times a day, it does tend to stick." There it was.

"I have work to get back to," Bruce said and did a tactical retreat. Lucius really did want that report in the next twenty minutes, so it wasn't fleeing the conversation.

As he walked away, he heard Jason say, "You think if I start talking about eating your brains, Timmy, Bruce'll think I'm actually a zombie and, you know? Take me out? Does the 'no kill' directive apply to zombies, too?"

"Just play the game, Jason," Tim said with a sigh.

-End-


	2. Chapter 2

Awkward Misunderstandings

"I can't believe you would ruin a cookie that way." Jason's voice carried from the kitchen to the living room where Alfred was doing some light dusting. The butler paused in his work. He had left Damian alone in the kitchen at the boy's request. Alfred wasn't sure how Damian would react to Jason's intrusion or his criticism. The butler listened closely to see if his intervention was needed.

"Who says it is ruined?" Damian said crossly. Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. That was 'Annoyed Damian' not 'Murderous Damian.' He pulled the stepstool over to the chandelier. When Dick had been a child, the boy had offered several times to clean it himself. Alfred had held firm to the idea that young boys shouldn't be hanging from the ceiling fixtures.

"You put poison in it!" Jason accused. The butler stopped so suddenly in his climb that the step stool wobbled under him. He made himself calm his racing heart. Those cookies were for the bake sale at Damian's school. Surely Damian wouldn't put poison in them?

"You didn't have to eat one. In fact, I specifically told you not to eat one." Alfred climbed down from the stepstool and headed to the kitchen. He would not panic. Proper butlers did not panic. If Damian had indeed put poison in the cookies, he would also have an antidote on hand. Alfred had to ask himself what life choices he had made to land himself in the position of wondering first if a ten year old had poisoned cookies and then if said boy was responsible enough to have an antidote prepared.

Alfred had just reached the door to the kitchen when Damian added, "Peanut butter isn't poison."

"It is to me!" Jason retorted. The moment of relief at Damian's words vanished at Jason's reply. Was Jason allergic to peanut butter? Alfred hadn't thought so, and he would berate himself for the next several weeks if his oversight led to Jason's hospitalization. Did they still have an epi pen somewhere in the house? Alfred thought frantically if he should try the medicine cabinet in the hall or the Cave first.

"Don't be a drama queen, Todd. I've seen your medical file. You're not allergic to peanut butter."

"No, but it's still disgusting. Like I said, who would ruin a cookie that way?"

"I like peanut butter cookies. Besides, I have labels and a sign prepared for students who are actually allergic to peanut butter. And those who lack taste in the cookie department." Damian glowered at Jason.

Alfred retreated from the doorway without either boy seeing him. Maybe there was another corner of the house that could be cleaned, one far away from young charges who made his heart race in fear at their over-dramatic words.

* * *

Damian was training in the Cave when the elevator dinged. Stephanie and Barbara exited the elevator, chatting with each other. He ignored their presence and continued with his katas. The two women didn't stop to greet him as they moved over to the computer. Stephanie sat in the chair and Barbara moved her wheelchair next to the teenage girl.

"I don't think I should patrol tonight," Stephanie was saying.

"Not if you aren't feeling up to it," Barbara replied. Damian tutted quietly. Of course Stephanie would be trying to get out of patrol. The girl was not as dedicated as he was. He would never willingly skip patrol, not even if he were in physical pain.

"Maybe I should try though. I mean, you've been through the same thing," Stephanie continued.

"Yes, and sometimes I have skipped patrol because of it. Don't worry, Bruce will understand."

"He'll understand if it were you. He's not a fan of me," Stephanie said.

'Neither am I,' Damian added silently.

"Stephanie, on a scale of 1 to 10, how bad does it hurt?" Barbara asked.

"It feels like someone is twisting a knife in my guts, so a 5, I guess?"

"This family and their interpretation of the pain scale," Barbara muttered to herself. "So, basically, it would be a 8 to normal people. Have you taken medicine for it?"

"Yeah, but it hasn't kicked in yet. I don't know if the drugs will be strong enough to get me through even a shortened night of patrol."

"You'd be a liability if you went out like this," Barbara said.

"Thanks," Stephanie said sarcastically.

"You know what I mean," Barbara said more gently. "You know your limits. Don't hurt yourself worse. Stay in tonight. There's always another night for patrol."

"Thanks," Stephanie said, this time sincere. "You'll tell Bruce?"

"Sure thing."

When Damian turned towards the two women, he saw the pain in Stephanie's face. Guilt came over him for mentally criticizing Stephanie when she was in pain. He decided to try 'empathy' since Grayson had insisted on its importance lately. He marched over to the two women. "I am sympathetic to your plight," he said.

Stephanie looked at him in surprise. "You are?"

"I also have had experiences with being stabbed. It is most uncomfortable when the location of the injury is in the torso or abdomen."

"Um, that's sweet, Damian, but-"

"If you require stitches, I would be willing to accommodate." Damian was satisfied with his attempt at empathy. He had showed remorse for another's suffering and offered assistance. Grayson would be pleased with him.

"Damian, that's nice and all, but I don't need stitches."

"You have already been seen to?"

"No, I- I don't need stitches for what I have." Stephanie was trying to look serious, but Damian could detect the slight mirth in her voice. He glared at her. He was trying to be sympathetic; was she making fun of him?

"You said the pain was like a knife in your guts. You are going to skip patrol because of the pain."

"It is. I am. It's just..." Stephanie turned to Barbara. "Is he old enough to know about, you-know-what?"

"I am old enough for whatever you are referring to. I'm not a child."

"As you keep reminding us," Barbara said under her breath. In a louder voice, she said, "If you want to tell him, go for it, Steph."

"It's, um. You see, when two people-"

"I don't think he needs background on the whole topic, Steph!" Barbara interrupted. "She's on her period, Damian."

Oh. "I see." His face was not turning red. He was more mature than his peers. This would not unnerve him. "Then I assume you know how to deal with this without my assistance. I have work to get caught up on upstairs." Damian walked toward the stairs at his usual pace. Of course if it was a little quicker than usual, it was because he detested Fatgirl and wanted to leave her presence immediately. He heard Stephanie's voice from behind him.

"That was actually pretty nice for him, wasn't it? When did he start showing compassion?"

* * *

"Do you want to see a magic trick?" Jason asked as he entered the living room. Dick was sitting on the couch watching TV and Tim was lying sideways on a chair, with his legs draped over the arm of the chair.

Tim looked up from his book. "If it doesn't take long," he replied.

"Don't get overly excited or anything," Jason said.

Dick turned off the TV. "Okay, I'm watching." Since Dick was paying attention, Tim took that as a sign that he could go back to his book.

Jason shuffled the cards seven times. Then he divided them into three piles, and he immediately combined them again. Then he shuffled the cards one more time.

"Hurry up!" Dick said.

"I am hurrying. Keep your shirt on, already!"

A mischievous grin crossed Dick's face. "Keep my shirt on?" he asked innocently, then pulled his shirt off.

"Dick, really? No one wants to see that."

"Are you kidding? There are loads of people who want to see this."

"Well, I'm not one of them," Jason said.

"You know, we have these playing cards already out..."

"That's a no. A strong no. What weirdo plays strip poker with his brothers?"

"Something else is coming off," Dick said in a sing-song voice. He sat on the floor and messed with the cuff of his jeans.

"It had better be a shoe. If it's not a shoe, I'm leaving," Jason said.

"This is getting ridiculous," Tim muttered. He hadn't looked up once during their conversation..

Dick triumphantly pulled off his shoe and held it aloft. "Now it's your turn! I took something off and now you have to!" He accidentally kicked out when showing off his stockinged foot. The cards were swept off the table and fell to the floor.

"I don't think that's how it works," Tim said. He sighed and started collecting the cards on the floor.

"C'mon, guys. It can be a shoe. Then I won't look so weird."

"There is literally nothing we can do to make you less weird. Believe me, I've spent many countless nights thinking of ways," Jason said.

"Someone take off something!" Dick protested, taking off another shoe just as Bruce walked into the room. The three boys froze.

"Um. It's not what it looks like?" Tim said, realizing the cards in his hand and Dick sans shirt or shoes make the situation very suspicious.

"Uh huh," Bruce grunted.

"I swear! We're not playing strip poker!" Tim said more forcefully.

Jason face palmed. "You realize saying that makes it look like we really are doing it, right, Tim?"

"Uh huh," Bruce said again. He left the room.

"This is your fault," Tim accused Dick.

Dick shrugged, unashamed. "Some people are just jealous of my good looks."

-End-


End file.
